


We Always Seem to Find Our Way Back to Each Other

by Halmaithor



Series: The Way Back Home [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 03:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21229028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halmaithor/pseuds/Halmaithor
Summary: Magnus is centuries old, but even he’s only seen familiar faces in new lives once or twice, and only ever in passing. The world is too big for it to be common, and it would be foolish to walk around expecting it.Which is why, when someonedoesreturn to him, he’s blindsided by it.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Through the Ages](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15573132) by [zahrabane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahrabane/pseuds/zahrabane). 

> After reading 'Through the Ages' by the very talented zahrabane, I was inspired to write a fic where Alec finds Magnus in more than one lifetime. Give 'Through the Ages' a read, it's well worth your time!
> 
> N.B.: This fic uses a lot of canon dialogue, which I have no claim over.

No-one remembers their past lives. Everyone knows that they had them – most likely, at least, because what were the chances that this was your first time around? – but unless you were lucky enough (or maybe unlucky enough) to find someone who knew you _before_¸ or to find your own face in a faded photograph, your past self would always be an unknown. And even if you managed to find some record of your past self’s exploits, they would be a stranger.

Magnus is centuries old, but even he’s only seen familiar faces in new lives once or twice, and only ever in passing; an old friend interviewed on the news, an old rival smiling as he hands Magnus his coffee. The world is too big for it to be common, and it would be foolish to walk around expecting it. He’s learned that when he loses someone important – when the life they’ve shared with him, however briefly, is over – that the only way to stay sane, to keep moving, is to forget about the _if only_s and _maybe one day_s, to hide his treasured memories in the box in his apothecary and grieve as if the soul he loved has winked out of existence; because wherever it walks now, it’s no longer his, and he has to accept that.

Which is why, when someone _does _return to him, he’s blindsided by it.

The arrow flies over his shoulder, and he whips around just in time to see the Circle member fall. The archer slips from the shadows, and there’s something familiar in his bearing, something that makes Magnus wonder aloud: ‘Who are you?’

And then he sees the Shadowhunter’s face, and the breath flees his lungs.  
_Édouard. _


	2. I Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec may have the same face, the same soul as Édouard - but he leads the life of a Shadowhunter.

‘Well done.’  
‘More like medium rare.’ The joke falls easily from Magnus’ lips, but he feels his stomach flutter at the familiar voice. He plasters on a carefree smile and turns to face the archer. ‘I’m Magnus. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced?’ _This time around, at least. _  
‘Alec.’ He’s flustered, clearly shy, and Magnus just finds that all the more charming.

Hope swells within him, unbidden, because he remembers this sort of chemistry with Édouard, remembers how he smiled almost exactly the same as Alec does when Magnus first called _him_ ‘pretty boy’. And even though Magnus knows better, he lets himself fantasise about picking up where they left off, his own soul easily embracing one he’d once loved so tenderly.

But when Jace’s image appears in front of Alec, and he freaks out, those hopes are shattered. Even though it was undoubtedly more dangerous for Édouard to be gay in eighteenth-century Marseille than it is for Alec in twenty-first-century New York, Édouard grew up free and unashamed. Alec’s grown up under the watchful eye of the Clave, under the stifling pressure of the Lightwood name, and he’s clearly terrified to face the truth about himself.

But Magnus has never been as selfish as he’d like people to think, and the disappointment is quickly replaced with compassion. ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Alec.’  
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The words are curt, flatly refusing.  
Magnus’ heart aches for him. ‘You will.’ _I’ll help you through this_, he promises. Because no matter what happens, all he’s ever wanted for this man is happiness.

***

‘Why did you ask for me? When Jace and Clary were both here?’  
Magnus is a little surprised. ‘Hm. Jace didn’t tell you?’ Alec shakes his head, and Magnus sighs. ‘Doesn’t matter. It was a lie anyway.’ He turns towards the window, keeping his breath steady, but unable to help fidgeting. He has to tell him, but he needs a moment away from that gaze, suspicious but somehow yearning, to collect his thoughts.  
‘Are warlocks always this cryptic?’  
Magnus has to laugh at that. ‘I’m not being _cryptic. _I’m being _coy_.’ He turns around to face Alec again. ‘Let me spell it out for you. I wanted to see you again.’  
And Alec surely can’t miss the meaning Magnus puts in those words, how serious Magnus is, but he still looks unsure. ‘Why?’

_Tell him, _Magnus’ heart demands. _He has to know_. ‘Did you know that every soul walks the earth more than once, Alec?’ he says, a false casual tone belying the importance of what he’s building to. ‘No-one knows how many times, exactly, but it’s true.’  
‘Yeah, of course. Everyone knows that.’  
‘Well,’ Magnus says, and he takes a deep breath. ‘I knew you – before. In one of your past lives. Eighteenth-century France, if you’re wondering.’

He sees the shock on Alec’s face, and gives him a minute to process. Eventually, Alec says, ‘I… okay. I wasn’t expecting that. How… how did we know each other?’  
But Magnus isn’t a fool. If he jumps straight to the truth, he might scare Alec off for good, and he couldn’t bear that. So instead, he smiles, gesturing to the couch. ‘Please, take a seat. Let me go and fetch something, and then I’ll tell you the whole story.’  
He wanders through to the apothecary, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart, and retrieves his treasure from the memory box.

When he returns, he sits a respectable distance from Alec, leaning over to place the brooch – a simple silver pin, in the shape of a single agapanthus blossom – in Alec’s palm. ‘In the early 1700s, at the party of a mutual friend, I met a young man by the name of Édouard Albert. He was a tall, handsome man in his early twenties, and the people I’d spoken to that evening had told me that he was quiet and stern. But I, ever up for a challenge, approached him all the same – and after a few minutes of conversation, it became clear that under that stoic demeanour beat a much kinder heart than many others realised.’ He smiles fondly at the memory, at the aching familiarity of Alec’s face as the Shadowhunter examines the brooch in his hands. ‘I was immediately interested in this man, but there was a problem – he was married, had been for a couple of years, to a beautiful young woman called Marie. I resigned myself to the missed opportunity, and might have moved on.

‘But Édouard came to call shortly after the party, and I didn’t have the heart to turn him away. _No harm in taking tea with a friend_, I told myself.’ Magnus chuckles. ‘But I was kidding myself, and after a few more visits, I realised I was completely smitten.’  
Alec’s eyes flick to him, and for a moment, Magnus is afraid he’s told too much, too soon. But Alec just quietly asks, ‘Then what happened?’  
Magnus smiles a little in relief. ‘Well, I knew we couldn’t have what I wanted for us. I’d had secret lovers, of course – there were more queer people back then than most history books would have you believe – but I wasn’t about to go after a married man. I do have _some _standards,’ he jokes, pleased when Alec’s mouth quirks in amusement. ‘But Édouard was brave, and the next time I saw him, he took me to his house. He told me that he had feelings for me, that he sensed it was mutual, and that he needed to introduce me to someone.’ He pauses for effect. ‘Amélie, Marie’s lover.’

Magnus grins at the wide-eyed surprise on Alec’s face. ‘Huh.’  
‘That was pretty much my reaction,’ he says. ‘Turns out, Édouard and Marie were childhood friends who had formed an arrangement – they would marry for appearance’s sake, to keep themselves safe from the watchful eyes of hatred and bigotry, but they would leave each other free to seek something… less platonic. So, once it became clear I wasn’t coming between the two of them… Édouard and I became lovers.’ Magnus leans back in his seat, lost in the memories. ‘Shortly after, he gave me that brooch as a token of his affection. We had to be discreet, of course, but we had a lot of happiness in the short time we were together.’

Alec leans forward, brow furrowing – clearly, he’s caught on to Magnus’ choice of words, the slight sadness creeping into his tone. ‘What happened?’  
Magnus blinks away the beginnings of tears, willing his voice to stay steady. _It’s been three centuries, you fool. Don’t be so fragile. _‘The plague came to Marseille, and two years into our relationship, Édouard was taken by it. Marie and Amélie soon followed.’ He swallows hard. ‘I was heartbroken; the man I loved and two of my closest friends had been ripped away from me in a matter of days. Marseille had nothing left for me, and so I left the city – I left Europe altogether, in fact – but even with the added distance, it took me a long time to get over that loss.’  
He turns back to Alec, trying to find some of his earlier light-heartedness. ‘And then, almost three hundred years later, who should wander into _Pandemonium_ but you? A Shadowhunter with the same face – the same _soul _– as my Édouard. That’s why I wanted to see you again, Alexander.’

Alec’s quiet for a long time, turning the brooch over in his hands like a meditation. When he speaks, he doesn’t meet Magnus’ eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘For what happened to Édouard. But I’m not him, and I don’t remember any of this. I’m… I’m not…’  
‘I know,’ Magnus reassures. ‘A person isn’t only their soul, Alexander – we’re shaped by our experiences, by the lives we lead. This is my past, but to you it’s just an old story. I didn’t ask you here to pressure you into anything. I just thought you should know.’ He sits forward a little, smiling gently. ‘Plus, I was curious to get to know the person you are now.’  
Alec looks up at him, and although he’s still guarded, some of the fear has gone. ‘I – I think I’d like that, too. But I don’t know how much longer I can stay, tonight – my mother called while you were looking for this,’ he says, gesturing to the brooch in his palm. ‘She asked me to come back to the Institute. It could be important.’  
‘Ah,’ Magnus says, ‘Shadowhunter business, of course.’ He waves his fingers, and another drink appears in his hand. He proffers it to Alec. ‘How about this – stay for just one more drink? And then decide.’  
Alec hesitates for only a moment, taking the glass with a small – but genuine – smile.

***

‘I’m getting married.’  
Magnus smiles, trying to hide his shock. ‘Woah, that’s a tad sudden, isn’t it? I mean, we should at least go to dinner first-‘  
‘No – Magnus, family is everything to me. You have to know that.’  
He inclines his head in acknowledgement. ‘I get it.’ How could he not, with Alec’s eyes boring into his, practically begging him to understand? ‘You’re part of a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ culture. I’m fine with it. You’re a… traditional guy.’ And yes, he’d hoped for something different, this time around – a partnership, something they didn’t have to hide – but he knows from experience that Alec is worth the extra discretion. They can make this work.  
‘Yeah, I am. That’s why I proposed to Lydia.’

Magnus can feel that he does a far worse job hiding his surprise this time. ‘That’s… interesting.’  
‘It- it makes sense, it’s a solid partnership. For both of us,’ Alec says, and Magnus’ heart sinks, because he’s beginning to realise that this _is _different to last time. It isn’t the mutually protective arrangement Édouard had with Marie – this is Alec making a political match, one that will fall apart if he doesn’t give the ruse his all. This is Alec hiding not just from the world, but from himself.

This is a picture of Alec’s future that Magnus can never fit into.

He can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes. ‘A solid partnership. That’s… _hot_,’ he mocks. When Alec doesn’t respond, he takes a deep breath, forcing a veneer of resignation over his pain. ‘Well, okay then,’ he continues, not quite managing to mask his sarcasm and not quite caring. ‘Congratulations. Marriage is a _wonderful _institution. Not that I would know.’ He sniffs, willing his eyes to stay dry, at least until he can get out of the building, and tries to muster a sincere smile. ‘Goodbye, Alexander.’

He walks away without another word, cursing himself for getting his hopes up in the first place. There was a reason he hadn’t ever gone looking for the souls he’d lost. You never knew who they would come back within.

***

He isn’t sure what makes him turn around, bow and quiver in hand, but he does. ‘I just want you to know – Lydia was wonderful in court. She’s great.’  
Alec’s face softens in relief. ‘So you get it.’  
‘No, Alec,’ he says gently, closing the distance between them once more. ‘I get _her._ I _like _her. But you don’t have to _marry _her.’  
‘Yes, I do, Magnus,’ Alec says, and his voice is determined, angry, but there’s fear in his eyes.  
‘You’ll be lonely all your life, and so will she.’ And Magnus is a fool, because Alec has made his choice, but Magnus can’t just stand by and let him doom himself to unhappiness. ‘Neither of you deserve it. And I don’t either,’ he adds softly, because despite all Alec has done to deny it, Magnus _knows _there’s something between them. He _knows _that if only Alec would give them a chance, they would make each other as happy as they once did in the secrets of Marseille.

He smiles, handing over the bow and quiver. ‘Um, I don’t know what to do with these,’ he jokes. ‘You keep them for me.’  
He turns and leaves, hoping beyond hope that his gesture was understood. _I only want what’s best for you, Alec. Please, trust me like you once did. _

***

‘There’s no conversation to be had. I’m getting married.’ If it weren’t for the sadness underlying his words, Magnus would feel a lot more convinced by Alec’s calm stubbornness. ‘You and I, we understand marriage very differently. I’m not some mundane from eighteenth-century France, Magnus, I’m a _Shadowhunter_. This is about family, and tradition, honour-‘  
‘Honour,’ Magnus interrupts, unable to contain his incredulity. ‘Where’s the _honour _in living a lie?’  
‘What are you talking about?’  
‘What about… love?’ Alec flinches at the word, and Magnus understands, because that isn’t what’s between them. But it was, once, and Magnus can’t bear to watch Alec sacrifice his chance at finding it in this lifetime – not after losing it to fate so quickly all those years ago. ‘Even Shadowhunters fall in love, Alec. Just tell me you’re in love with Lydia, and I’ll stop.’ And he means it, too. He just wants Alec to be happy, with or without him.

‘I don’t know,’ Alec says. _Liar, _Magnus thinks, but Alec’s not done. ‘Why do you keep _pushing_? It’s- This- You’re confusing me,’ he accuses, frustration boiling over, and he starts to leave.  
‘Confusion is part of it,’ Magnus says, stopping Alec in his tracks. ‘That’s how you find out if something’s there. Emotions are never black and white – they’re more like… symptoms.’ He starts to circle Alec, an idea sparking in his brain. ‘You lose your breath every time they enter a room,’ he says, his voice soft. He snaps his fingers, seeing Alec’s hand fly to his chest as his heart reacts to the small hit of magic. ‘Your heart beats faster when they walk by.’ He drops his voice down to a whisper. ‘Your skin tingles when they stand close enough to feel their breath.’ He lets a small wisp of magic out on his exhale, seeing the goosebumps appear even as Alec turns away.  
Magnus waits, willing Alec to understand – to recognise what Magnus has been seeing in him for days now, what Magnus has been feeling ever since Alec came back into his life. What two men came to feel for each other three hundred years ago, and decided it was worth any risk to pursue.

He doesn’t speak again until Alec turns to face him. ‘I know you feel what I feel, Alec,’ he says gently. ‘I _know_ you.’  
Alec shakes his head. ‘I told you before, I’m not Édouard. You don’t know me, and you don’t have any clue what I feel. So back off.’ The anger’s returned, and Magnus can feel his chance slipping away. ‘This is all just a game to you, isn’t it?’ Alec’s halfway across the room now. Magnus makes no effort to get closer. ‘You flirt, you laugh, you use magic – but at the end of the day, what do you risk?’  
_Everything, _Magnus wants to say. _My heart, my hope, my soul. Everything that actually matters. _But he doesn’t.  
‘Even if I did feel something for you,’ and Alec hesitates, before barrelling forward, ‘you want me to give up my _life _for you? I have to do what’s right for _me_. I could lose my family, my career, everything!’ He stares a moment, scrutinising Magnus’ face, and Magnus tries to keep his expression neutral. _But this _isn’t_ right for you, _he implores silently. _Please, listen to me. Listen to yourself, the man hiding underneath all the lies they’ve taught you to believe. _

But all he says is, ‘You have a choice to make.’ Before Alec leaves the room, he adds, ‘I will not ask again,’ and almost convinces himself that he means it as he disappears.  
A man has his pride, after all – no matter how much he once cared for the person hurtling themselves towards unhappiness.

***

‘Maybe Camille was right,’ he says. ‘I am immortal. I can party and have fun to my heart’s content without the anchors of love around my feet.’ He tries to sound excited about the prospect, the freedom of it all. He tries to sound like that isn’t the consolation prize in life, the one he resigned himself to as his only option nearly a century ago.  
But Ragnor is – _was_ – his oldest friend, and even if he weren’t a figment of Magnus’ imagination, he’d be able to read Magnus better than that. ‘You are not Camille,’ he says, ‘And though I know you won’t believe me, someday someone will come along who will tear down those walls you’ve built around your heart. And when that love comes back to you, you must do everything in your power to fight for it.’  
_When it comes _back _to you, _his mind echoes.

His mouth ticks upward as he gets to his feet.  
‘Going somewhere?’ the image of Ragnor asks, surprised.  
Magnus grins. ‘Even in death, you give the best advice.’

Pride be damned. Édouard was special, and Magnus lost him far too soon.  
He’s not just giving up his chance with Alexander.

***

He doesn’t say a word to Alec, just lifts his chin in defiance. _I know you, _he thinks. _If you’re ready to be honest with yourself – and if you still want me, after all this time – I’m here. _

Alec strides down the aisle and kisses him, and after three hundred years Magnus’ soul gives a homecoming sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the language of flowers, agapanthus means 'secret love'.


	3. Out in the Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I’m the same person I’ve always been. Now everything’s just out in the open.' - Alec Lightwood, 1x12  
In which relationships take effort.

It isn’t easy, but they move forward together. Alec is headstrong and set in his ways in a way Édouard never was, not quite – but he’s also more passionate, more driven. And beneath it all is that same kindness, the same determined conscience Magnus fell in love with once before.

When Alec sends his soul looking for Jace and loses a part of it between them, Magnus stays by his side. He hears Clary ask Izzy, ‘Has he been in there with Alec the whole time?’, and almost laughs hysterically. He cared for Édouard all through his final days, when the plague made him delirious and weak, even when he grew frantic and didn’t recognise his lover anymore. At least this time, Magnus feels like he can make a difference.

At the loft, he kisses Alec, and prays. _Please_, he thinks. _If there’s any memory of me in your soul, let this guide it back to you. _

For a gut-wrenching, horribly familiar moment, he watches Alec slip away.   
When Jace brings him back, he almost sobs with relief.

He feels the same fear much too soon after that, watching Alec fall backwards from that ledge. But once again, he can _act, _he can save him.   
Far, far worse is the night Valentine attacks the Institute. For most of the siege he feels powerless, stuck on the sidelines with no word as to what’s happening. Even when he and Clary join the fight, and he escapes with Madzie, he’s none the wiser as to Alec’s fate. _He’ll be okay, _Clary had promised, but there’s a louder voice in Magnus’ head that says _Maybe he’s already gone. He could have been dead for hours, he might have already spent his last moments alone and in agony. You really think he’ll come back to you a second, third, fourth time?_

The sun rises, and Magnus can see him – scanning the crowd of people at the Institute doors, looking just this side of frantic. _Oh, thank god, _Magnus thinks, and when he reaches out to touch Alec he feels like he can breathe again.   
It’s not until Alec whirls around and instantly pulls him closer than ever that he realises the feeling might be mutual.

‘Magnus, I- I love you,’ he says, and it’s a world away from Marseille. This isn’t a whispered confession of _je t’aime_¸ hidden away from the world, fearful of discovery.

‘I love you too,’ Magnus says – and now that he can afford to be honest with himself, he realises that it’s been true for the last three hundred years.   
He kisses his love in the sunlight, in the open, and his heart soars.

***

But the soul he loves is hidden under angelic runes, this time around, and that’s not a difference they can just ignore.

Alec _tries_, Magnus knows he does. He doesn’t believe Magnus’ pleas for help, infected as they are by Valentine’s voice – but he saves Magnus from Herondale, comforts him in the wake of the torture. When Downworlders come under suspicion, he makes a misguided attempt to keep Magnus’ name clear – and when he realises why Magnus got so angry, he gives him a heartfelt apology. _You never have to prove yourself to me, _he says, and Magnus knows what he means: _Next time – _because there will always be a next time, Magnus knows that by now – _I’ll stand by you. When you’re assumed guilty, I won’t just prove your innocence; I’ll challenge the assumption. _

When it comes to himself, Alec trying is enough for Magnus. He takes Magnus in his arms, accepts his true eyes and his worst failure without hesitation. _You’re beautiful_, he says in awe only half as strong as Magnus feels hearing it. _There’s nothing ugly about you_, he says, and Magnus has never believed that – but in Alec’s embrace, he thinks he might be able to one day.

But when Alec conceals the truth about the Soul Sword, Magnus loses hope. He’s angry at the deception, of course, but it’s more than that. His own fate, his own happiness is one thing – Alec tries, he learns, and that’s enough – but this affects all of the Downworld, all of the warlock lives Magnus is responsible for. If he and Alec aren’t on the same page, he can’t afford to lose his objectivity. _I can’t have both_, he says, and as the elevator doors close Magnus breaks down, wishing he was selfish enough to choose Alec.   
_We always seem to find our way back to each other.   
_‘I’m sorry, my love,’ he murmurs, even though Alec can’t hear him anymore. ‘Not this time.’

***

They’re fighting to take down Valentine – one of the biggest threats the Shadow World has ever faced – and Magnus’ head is still spinning with grief. Because Alec may have been new to him, but this love isn’t, and now that he’s let it back in it’s everywhere around him.

Standing off to the side after Valentine’s defeat, he hears Ragnor sigh, a familiar arm draping around his shoulders. ‘My dear friend,’ Ragnor says. ‘Eternity will be a real drag if you’re always so determined to make yourself miserable. You miss him, and he’s sorry for making such a mistake – a mistake he only made to try and spare you pain, by the way. Isn’t that enough?’

Ragnor disappears as Alec emerges from the crowd, and Magnus feels the anxiety move through his gut like snakes.   
But they head outside, and this time, Alec’s honesty is clear as day.   
_I’m sorry. I should have told you.   
I can’t think straight_.   
_I don’t think I can live without you. _

And all Magnus can feel is gratitude, because of all the people he’s pushed away, Alec is one of the very, very few to come back. _I thought I had to choose between you and the Downworld, _he says, and he thinks of Alec since their fight. Running to his side after Magnus closed the rift. The fear in Magnus’ heart when Alec collapsed in agony, and the well-known, desperate plea in his head: _No, please, not again_. Alec telling Magnus to go, to save himself – even when he’d just lost his parabatai and needed all the help he could get.   
Even when they weren’t on good terms, they had managed to make each other stronger, not weaker. _I thought I had to choose between you and the Downworld. But I don’t. _

They walk home arm in arm, and it feels _right_.


	4. Stay With Me

With Valentine gone, their problems aren’t over, but at every turn Magnus feels the reassurance of Alexander at his side. His boyfriend coaxes the truth from Magnus, and chooses to stay in New York rather than take his dream job in Idris. He stands by him at Lorenzo’s party, works with him to fix the ley lines, and doesn’t leave when Magnus reveals his true heritage.

_Thank you for loving my boy, _Maryse says, but it’s the easiest thing Magnus has ever done.

They argue about the box of memories when Alec discovers it, and finds out that it doesn’t all belong to one person. He might have figured out what it was sooner, but ever since they first said _I love you_, Magnus has kept the agapanthus brooch in his pocket with the omamori charm.   
Magnus knows that Alec is special – he’s the only one he’s ever told his darkest secrets, the only one he’s ever loved twice – but he won’t apologise for his past, for the other love he’s found along the way.   
He doesn’t have to. Alec takes some time to process, which Magnus understands, and returns with an apology that Magnus doesn’t need – Alec still being there is enough proof for him that they can work things out – but that he accepts for Alec’s sake, because at this point, he’d gladly do anything for him.

Of course, that’s a dangerous position to be in, with the lives they lead – and never is that more obvious than when Magnus finds himself knelt in a cold alleyway, cradling Alec’s head and trying not to shake out of his skin with how _wrong_, how _dead _he feels without his magic. The worst part, the worst part by far, is a sense of helplessness beyond any he’s felt before. Alec’s own arrow is speared through his chest, and without his magic Magnus can’t slow the bleeding, can’t numb the pain, can’t even tell how close the damage is to his heart.   
‘Stay with me,’ he’d said, as soon as he got to Alec’s side, because that was imperative. _I did this for you, don’t you dare leave me again. Not now. Not ever. _  
When Alec loses consciousness, he finds himself sobbing it over and over. ‘No – _no_, Alec, stay with me! Please. Please, just hold on – stay with me until help gets here, okay? Just a little longer. _Stay with me._’

It’s still going around his head when they get home that night. The damage missed Alec’s heart, thank god, and Cat managed to repair most of it fairly quickly. ‘He’ll need a few days rest,’ she said before she left, her hand warm and comforting on Magnus’ shoulder, ‘but I don’t think a stay in the infirmary is necessary. Just call me if anything changes.’

Magnus had thanked her, and returned to Alec’s side. He’s now curled on top of the covers next to him, one hand carding through his love’s hair in rhythm with his singular, still-terrified thought: _Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me. _

And by some miracle, Alec does.

***

Alec stays long after anyone else would have left.

Magnus feels useless without his magic – if eyeliner is his tiger’s stripes, then magic was his claws and teeth and strength. But Alec doesn’t look on him with pity, he looks on him with pride; it’s not enough, not when Magnus feels like he’s missing at least two-thirds of his very _self, _but it helps.

Learning from Alec’s example, Magnus _tries_. He makes breakfast, travels around with Alec in tow, smiles and laughs and _carpe_s the _diem_.   
When Alec pulls him gently to one side, coaxing him to slow down before he burns himself out, part of him wants to scream at the loss of a perfectly good coping mechanism. But Alec’s right there, and god knows why he is, but Magnus is so thankful – enough that the love he feels, a love powerful enough to have lasted centuries, can momentarily outweigh the pain. _Everything I need is right here in front of me_, he says. It isn’t true, not yet – but it should be, it _should _be, and maybe if he says it enough it _will_ be, too.

***

Looking back on it, he lasted longer than he thought he would. He’s surprised he didn’t go to Lorenzo the moment Alec had recovered, or even the day after he was taken by Iris.

Now, with magic coursing in his veins again, he doesn’t know why he tried to hold out so long. True, it itches beneath his skin like untreated wool, when his own magic felt like satin. But it’s _there_, and he’s connected to the world again, and he’s _useful _again.   
Alec worries, because of _course _he does, and Magnus tries to hide the worst of the pain – the nosebleeds, the headaches, even how much he misses his home. _It’s just an adjustment period, _he convinces himself. _It’s new magic, it’ll get used to me, and I’ll get used to living elsewhere. _Maybe he ought to know better than that, but he quenches the doubts that come at night by turning to face Alec, marvelling at the fact that he can _sense _him again, he can feel his lover’s steady rhythm and almost see the dazzling, beautiful light of this achingly familiar soul.

Alec’s still there when he wakes up in the infirmary.

‘Magnus, you stopped breathing. Your _heart_ stopped. I thought you were _gone_.’   
‘I’m so sorry for scaring you,’ he says, and he means it. He knows that fear in Alec’s voice, because he’s been on the other end of it too many times. He tries to banish that fear with the same excuses he’s been making to himself – it’s new magic. I need to adjust. I’ll be more careful.   
But Alec won’t accept that. ‘It doesn’t matter how careful you are. As long as you have Lorenzo’s magic, you’ll be living with an axe over your head.’  
Magnus pulls a face. ‘Oh, could you stop being so morbid?’ He tries to make it teasing, but it falls flat. Alec’s clearly in no mood for it, and Magnus is just so _tired_.

He knows it will hurt Alec when he says keeping his magic might be worth dying for.   
He says it anyway.

‘I am _nothing_ without my magic.’ It’s a painful truth, one he’s barely dared to say aloud since he took Asmodeus’ deal. Magnus turns to face Alec, his frustration reignited. ‘You fell in love with _Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn. _Can you honestly say that you don’t feel differently about me? Look at me!’ He almost laughs in desperation, hands shaking as he points to his useless, broken body. ‘Can you honestly say you like this?’  
‘Yes!’ It’s too quick an answer to be anything but the truth, but somehow that hurts all the more. Because if Alec still loves him, he can’t use that bargaining chip, and he’s going to lose this fight. He’s so tired of losing.

He barely hears what Alec says, the reasons he gives for falling in love, and Magnus turns away in self-disgust until Alec grabs him. ‘Hey!’ he says, and Magnus forces himself to meet his gaze. ‘I won’t lose you. I _can’t_.’  
And that cuts deeper than all the reasons Alec gave him before – because suddenly, Magnus is sitting next to a deathbed in Marseille. Reaching desperately towards a ledge outside his loft. Kneeling in a cold, sulfurous alleyway. His mind saying _I can’t lose you. I love you. Don’t leave me._

Alec swallows. ‘Before,’ he says, his voice breaking a little. ‘Way before. In France. I didn’t know you were a warlock, did I?’  
It’s the first time Alec’s ever referred to Édouard as though he’s talking about himself. ‘No, you didn’t,’ Magnus says quietly, numb with surprise. ‘We already had enough to fear, homophobia being what it was back then. I didn’t want to put you in any more danger by giving you another secret to keep.’   
Alec nods, and gives a shaky smile. ‘I loved you then, Magnus, and I love you now. Powers or not.’ He moves his hands to cradle Magnus’ neck, the back of his head. ‘Please,’ he whispers, and his eyes fill with tears. ‘Don’t do this. Don’t make me lose you again. Not after it took me so long to find my way back.’   
He closes his eyes and the tears spill over. He tips his head forward until their foreheads touch, and from anyone else, Magnus would call this manipulation. But the look on Alec’s face tells a different story, because there’s no calculation there – he’s not just saying what he thinks will work, what he thinks Magnus needs to hear for Alec to get his way.   
This is an honest plea. Alec is baring his heart, and begging Magnus not to hurt him. Not to make true his greatest fear.

Magnus has never been selfish enough to refuse a request like that.

He closes his own eyes, takes Alec’s waist with both hands to pull him a step closer, and steels himself. ‘Okay,’ he murmurs, and his heart breaks as Alec sobs in relief. ‘Okay.’

When Lorenzo comes back in, it’s over in a matter of seconds, and Alec’s there to catch him. ‘I’ll be keeping the apartment,’ Lorenzo snipes.   
Despite the emptiness, Magnus feels a swell of revulsion at the show of cruelty. ‘Oh, fine,’ he says, making no effort to hide his disgust. ‘I have everything I need right here.’   
It’s still not the truth, and right now, Magnus doesn’t think it ever will be.

Alec takes him in his arms again, and Magnus tries to conjure a spark of hope, of comfort.  
But he just feels hollow.

***

After Magnus gives up his magic for the second time, Alec lets himself feel relieved. He tells himself that as long as Magnus is healthy, as long as he’s safe, nothing else matters.   
Alec breathes through the residual stress, feels his heart rate slow to normal for the first time in days. And then he plans.

He asks his mother for the Lightwood family ring, and drafts a speech that’ll let Magnus know that no matter what, Alec will be there to support him. Alec plans to love Magnus for the rest of their lives, and tonight he’s going to prove it. He’s going to show Magnus that every time he’s said Alec is all he needs, the feeling’s been mutual.   
Magnus shows up half an hour late, drunk, and spiteful. The spite turns into guilt, which turns into melancholy, and suddenly Alec is holding a sobbing Magnus in his arms, all thoughts of the ring under the tiny cloche forgotten.   
When Magnus stops crying and just sways on his feet, exhausted, Alec lets practicality take over and puts him to bed. He half-undresses his boyfriend, coaxes a glass of water down his throat, kisses his forehead, and then strokes Magnus’ hair until his eyes close and his breathing evens out.

After Magnus falls asleep, Alec goes back out onto the balcony, shuts the door behind him, and lets himself weep. He curses himself for being so stupid, because Magnus may be healthy, but with grief this overwhelming – grief Magnus doesn’t think he’ll ever recover from – he definitely isn’t safe.   
Alec pushes aside the thoughts of Magnus standing on the edge of a bridge, focuses instead on clearing the balcony. And then he plans.

***

‘You’re not considering it, are you?’ Izzy looks dumbfounded, and if he hadn’t seen Magnus’ breakdown, Alec would understand why.   
But instead, he says resolutely, ‘Magnus lost his magic in the first place because of me.’ It’s a painful truth, one he’s barely dared to think about since Magnus took Asmodeus’ deal.   
‘He chose to save Jace -’  
‘He knew I’d never get over losing my parabatai.’ Alec takes a breath. ‘Magnus sacrificed _everything _so I could feel whole. And now I have the chance to do the same for him.’   
‘He wouldn’t want this,’ Izzy insists. ‘He loves you so much.’

‘I know.’ He’d told Asmodeus as much himself. But Magnus has sacrificed enough, and if Alec can get him back his magic – if he can return the _one_ thing that stands a chance at ever making Magnus happy again – he has to try. ‘But I’m not the first person he’s loved, and I won’t be the last. He lost me once before, Izzy – it didn’t break him back then, and it won’t break him now.’ He blinks away the beginnings of tears, because if he can’t do this in front of Izzy, how will he ever keep it together in front of Magnus? ‘Breaking up is gonna hurt like hell, but I know it’s the kind of hurt he can recover from, because he’s done it before.’

Izzy looks too knowingly at him, and asks, ‘But what about you? Can you recover?’

_No, _he thinks. _Of course I can’t. _  
And if there were any doubt of that in his mind, it would have been wiped out the moment he walked out of the bookshop, Magnus’ warmth fading from his skin and Magnus’ pleas ringing in his ears.

***

Alec leaves, and Magnus thinks this might be the worst time he’s ever lost someone. Because this isn’t fate, this isn’t death intervening and trying to break two souls apart.   
This is Magnus’ fault, because he’s driven Alec away.

When Asmodeus appears, Magnus barely has it in him to feel afraid, or angry. He’s numb, like his frigid hands and feet after walking aimlessly through the snow all night.  
His father gives him his magic back, and it floods through him like sunlight, like fire, burning and bright and _alive_.

And he isn’t numb anymore.  
And it _hurts._

He’d told himself that he could make it without magic, because Alexander was all he needed.   
It’s almost funny, because the universe has picked one hell of a time to turn that into the truth.


	5. Denouement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth will out, and Magnus faces the end of their three-hundred-year love story.

‘Magnus,’ Maryse says urgently. ‘When _exactly _did your magic return?’   
His head is reeling, still struggling to process _Alec still loves you _and _he was going to propose_. But his magic, his father, all that happened a few hours after –

It all clicks.   
Asmodeus is the most selfish bastard he’s ever met. Alec is the most selfless bastard he’s ever met.  
And, fuck, he’s going to kill them both.

He doesn’t, of course. He can’t kill his father – not even Lilith had that power – but he banishes him forever, trapping him in Limbo. A small, idiotically loyal part of him wonders if he ought to feel sad about that, but he just feels a grim satisfaction.

After that, he heads to Alicante, praying he isn’t too late, because oh god there are so many demons in the sky, and Alexander’s beneath it all, and for all Magnus knows he’s already dead-

_There._  
He crosses the distance in a heartbeat, loosing his magic among the demons in a raging bolt of lightning and turning them all into smoke and ashes.   
Alexander turns to face him, and he’s the most beautiful thing Magnus has ever seen.   
Magnus smirks. ‘Sorry I’m late. Traffic was hell.’

He follows Alec and Izzy into the building he found them outside, and when Alec tells him they can’t be together, his heart breaks all over again – not for himself, but for Alexander. For the pain he can’t hide at the thought of having to push Magnus away a second time.  
_Asmodeus can’t come between us again.  
I know about the deal_.   
He starts to tell Alec that it’s okay, that he forgives him – of course he does, he loves him more than he ever knew was _possible_, and even though it hurt them both Alec did something incredibly brave and selfless to try and heal Magnus’ broken soul –   
He’s interrupted by soft lips on his own, desperate and yet somehow afraid, gentle like Alexander doesn’t quite believe he’s managed to come home to Magnus once more.

Magnus feels his heart lurch like it did when Alec first told him that he loved him. Like it did at Alec’s wedding. Like it did in Marseille, when Édouard introduced him to Amélie and told him that yes, Magnus could have what he wanted.

Conjuring the rings is the easiest decision he’s ever made.   
Ascending through the portal to Edom is the hardest.

But once he’s through, he blasts all of the hellspawn within a quarter mile, and uses the rest of his power – surging through him like a live wire, like all his power on Earth was a static shock and this is a thunderstorm – to seal the rift.

And the tears stream down his face, but he’s _happy_. Because after three hundred years, if this is how his greatest love story ends? If it ends with Magnus’ heart safe in the knowledge that his fiancée – his Édouard, his Alexander – has always loved him and always will? If it ends with Magnus’ last act on Earth a sacrifice gladly made to keep that most beloved soul and all others safe?

Yeah. He can live with that ending.

***

But of course, that isn’t the ending he gets.  
‘Magnus!’  
_No, it can’t be._  
‘Magnus!’  
But it is, it’s – ‘Alexander!’

And Magnus throws his arms around the man he loves, the one soul that’s chased after his time and time again. His beautiful Alexander, who came to _Edom _for him, to stand beside him against Lilith herself.  
‘And if we succeed, then what?’ he asks, not much caring for the answer. If this is all he gets – one more look into those eyes, one more chance to hold him close and tell him how he loves him – then that’s enough.  
But Alec says, ‘Then I stay here. With you. I’m never leaving you again.’

And really, if Magnus couldn’t believe that after three centuries of proof, what kind of a fool would that make him?

***

They escape Edom.

They marry, swearing _always_, and Alec tells Magnus that it feels more eternal than a ‘stupid, flimsy lock’ ever could. It works – his guilt over destroying the lock fades immediately, replaced by a fond chuckle. The next day, he crafts a replacement lock, using silver from the agapanthus pin, because their love doesn’t have to be a secret anymore. Everyone in their lives knows that they’re the Lightwood-Banes, that they’re a partnership.

They move to Alicante, a place that’s now fulfilling both their dreams instead of threatening to tear them apart. They work hand in hand, Inquisitor and High Warlock, fighting for change – for Downworlder equality, for Accord rewrites, even for queer acceptance.

They adopt their little ‘Blueberry’ – a blue warlock baby they call Max. Not long after that, they find an orphaned young Shadowhunter called Rafael, and welcome him into the family as well.

It’s everything Magnus has ever wanted, and everything he never thought he could have.

***

After a long, happy life, Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane passes peacefully in his sleep at the age of seventy-six.

And the grief swallows Magnus whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
...I regret nothing. 
> 
> (Don't worry - I promised a happy ending, and a happy ending there shall be!)


	6. Epilogue - Gold, Silver, and Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we've suffered enough.' -Seventy Years of Sleep  
Well, who am I to argue with that?

Twenty-seven years later, Max Lightwood-Bane is in London just after midnight, in a pub mostly frequented by Downworlders. The lights are just dimmed enough to be cosy, the steady rock music is almost drowned out by laughter and conversation, and the beer is a hell of a lot cheaper than it is in mundane London pubs.

All of that fades away, replaced by a buzzing in Max’s brain when he looks across the room and sees a man he knows he’s never met before. A tall man, even sitting down, with pale skin, dark hair, and hazel eyes – but then he blinks, and the eyes glow solid silver as he waves a finger, condensation settling over his margarita as it instantly cools.  
‘_Dad,_’ Max breathes.

His hands are shaking as he pulls out his phone, and the man – _not Dad, _he tells himself, _not anymore – _hasn’t noticed him yet, which is good, because Max can’t stop staring, even as he presses number two on his speed dial.  
‘What the fuck, Max?’ Rafe grumbles, sounding every bit as crochety as his eighty-three years. ‘You know it’s past one o’clock here, right?’  
‘Rafe,’ he hisses, ‘shut up a minute. I have to tell you something, so sit yourself up in your old-man bed because I don’t wanna give you a heart attack when I do.’ It’s mostly a joke – this is big news, but his brother is looking stronger than any mortal octogenarian Max has ever seen, and the three of them have a bet on how long he’s gonna last. (Rafe thinks ninety-eight, Bapa thinks one-hundred and three, and Max thinks one-hundred and fifty-two. His logic – which he’s explained to Rafe, because he knew it would make him laugh, but not to Bapa, because he knows it would make him cry – is that Rafe’s twice as stubborn as Dad ever was, so it makes sense he’ll live twice as long.)

‘Max,’ Rafe says, and he sounds more cautious now, ‘is everything alright? Are you okay?’  
Ordinarily, Max would roll his eyes – the Shadowhunter half of his family never quite understood the whole _I’m a warlock, I can take care of myself _thing. But he’s not sure he _is _okay right now. ‘Rafe… Dad’s here. Right in front of me. In some Downworlder pub in London.’  
Rafe sighs. ‘By the Angel, Max, I’m happy that Bapa’s finally having a night out, but it’s one in the fucking mor-‘  
‘Not Bapa,’ Max says, as irritated as he can sound without raising his voice in the slightest. ‘_Dad. _As in, Clave Inquisitor, second-stubbornest Shadowhunter ever, Alexander Gideon _Dad._’

Rafe is silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is patient, gentle – a tone Max has only ever heard him use with his wife and kids, his grandkids, or Bapa on a particularly bad day. ‘Blue,’ he says kindly, sadly. ‘I don’t know how much you’ve had to drink, but… Dad died, remember? Nearly thirty years ago.’  
Max really does roll his eyes then. ‘I know, genius. I’m not the one whose memory and eyesight is going. I mean, I think Dad’s _next _life is sitting here right in front of me, drinking a margarita, which by the way he just cooled down with magic because I think he’s a fucking _warlock _this time.’ Max stops to catch his breath and lower his voice again before continuing, ‘Rafe, what the fuck do I do? Do I talk to him? Do I tell him who I am, who he is? Oh my god,’ he says, feeling the blood drain from his face as he panics, ‘do I tell _Bapa? _I can’t _not _tell him, but what if this guy is a total jerk and it just-‘

‘Max!’ Rafe’s tone has moved far away from gentle, adopting the commanding edge that made him a natural leader in Alicante before his retirement. ‘You need to calm down, bud. Take a deep breath and listen to me.’ Max complies, nodding although Rafe can’t see it. ‘Okay, good. Listen, if you’re sure – and I mean one-hundred-percent _certain _this guy is Dad in the next life – then go talk to him. People know this happens, right? As for Bapa, don’t tell him yet – not until you’ve talked to the guy. Preferably, not until _I’ve _talked to him too.’ He chuckles. ‘Though I’m warning you, you show up before eight o’clock, and warlocks or not, I’m kicking both your asses.’  
Max breathes a laugh in response. ‘Yeah, yeah, okay. Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.’  
‘You do that. Good luck, Blue.’

The line goes dead, and Max takes another deep breath to steady himself. When that doesn’t work, he downs the rest of his pint in one chug. There, that’s better.  
He wanders over to the silver-eyed warlock, smiling politely. ‘Hi,’ he says.  
The warlock looks up, and Max’s breath catches, because that’s exactly the look Dad had whenever something caught his attention and made him look up from his desk. ‘Hi. Can I help you?’  
Max tries not to be weirded out by the British accent, and laughs nervously. ‘Um – kinda. Listen, this is gonna sound crazy, but… you know how people have multiple lives?’

***

‘Woah,’ the warlock – who goes by Ray Hughes, apparently – says. ‘That’s… er, that’s quite something.’  
Max just hums in agreement, sipping at his eighth pint. Sue him, it’s been a weird night.  
Ray turns to him, and Max isn’t sure what he expected, but it probably wasn’t a bright, beaming smile. ‘So you’re my _son_?’  
Max returns the smile, gesturing to the wallet photo before him – him and Dad, laughing at a long-forgotten joke as they cook together. ‘Yeah, it would seem so.’  
‘Wow. You’re my _son_.’ Ray laughs, awkwardly rubbing at the nape of his neck, and it’s a nervous habit so familiar that Max has to swallow hard to keep from bursting into tears. ‘Sorry, I know that’s the obvious thing, but I just… I’m a gay warlock, you know? I thought I might never get a chance at the whole ‘having kids’ thing. And now you’re telling me that not only do I have kids, but I have grandkids and _great-_grandkids too?’

Max feels his eyes water again. It’s possible that eight pints of lager and meeting his long-dead father wasn’t the smartest combination for him to indulge in. ‘Yeah,’ he says, sniffing as subtly as possible and probably failing miserably. ‘You do.’ He puts his hand on Ray’s shoulder, his slightly fuzzy brain sparking in excitement as he remembers something. ‘Actually, what time is it in Idris right now?’  
Ray stares at him blankly. ‘How should I know?’  
Max realises his mistake. ‘Sorry, it’s just – you always did. I keep forgetting you’re not a Shadowhunter this time.’ He looks at his phone, the logic of time conversions slipping through his fingers for a few moments before he triumphantly announces, ‘Aha! It’s nearly three a.m. here, which means it’s nearly six a.m. there. If you’ve got a couple hours to wait, we can portal over and you can meet my brother Rafe.’

Ray’s beaming again. ‘I’d love that.’

***

When they get to the front door, Ray glances around. It’s barely dawn, but even in the dim blue light, the city of Alicante looks beautiful. Another time, he’d probably admire the architecture for a good long while, but right now he’s transfixed by the blue guy in front of him. _Max. My _son, he thinks wonderingly.  
Max rings the doorbell, and a few seconds later, a crackling voice comes through a speaker on the doorframe. ‘For fuck’s sake, Max,’ the old man – Rafe, his _other _son, and this is the weirdest-slash-best day ever – practically growls. ‘You’re _two hours _early. I meant it about that ass-kicking.’  
Max rolls his eyes. ‘Oh, shut up. You try doing _math_ when you’re drunk as hell and sitting right next to your until-recently-dead father. You gonna let us in or what?’  
There’s another inaudible grumble through the speaker, and the door opens.

Ray follows Max through to a warm room with two purple couches and a matching armchair, the last of which holds an elderly man – though for an eighty-three year old mortal, Ray has to admit this guy isn’t looking his age.  
The man’s face clears of all grumpiness and suspicion as soon as his eyes land on Ray. ‘Holy shit,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s actually you.’  
Ray smiles, and walks over to take a seat opposite Rafe. ‘Apparently so. I’m Ray.’

He doesn’t know how long the three of them talk for, but by the time he looks out of the window again, the sun is fully up. Max and Rafe may look decades (and species, and worlds) apart, but they argue like every other pair of siblings he’s ever met. Ray looks through countless photos of Rafe and his descendants – around a dozen smiling people, all marked with angelic runes except for the youngest kids – and finds himself trying to remember the names. _That’s Kelly, that girl with the red hair. The slightly older one with the darker skin is Bobby, and the littlest one in his arms is… Kirsten? Kristen?_

It takes a while, but eventually he realises that there’s a notable absence – by accident, maybe, but he reckons it’s by design – from all the photos he’s seen. ‘So,’ he ventures, trying not to sound as nervous as he feels. ‘Your papa-‘  
‘Bapa,’ Max corrects. ‘It’s Malay.’  
‘Ah, right. Sorry. Your _bapa_… I mean, it’s been twenty-seven years, right? I’m guessing he’s moved on?’ For some reason, the idea makes him slightly sad. _Get a bloody grip_, he scolds himself. _You’ve never met the man, how the fuck can you be jealous? _

Max snorts, but there’s little humour in it. ‘Yeah, right,’ he says. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s got at least a century of mourning left to do.’ Ray frowns, because geez, that’s even _sadder_, and Max must realise it because he looks sheepish. ‘Sorry,’ he says, his tone a little softer. ‘What I mean is… no, he hasn’t moved on. He’s okay, mostly, but…’ He sighs, all the sarcasm gone now. ‘It hit him hard, you know? He really loved Dad. He really loved… you.’

It’s quiet for a moment, but then Rafe says, ‘You should go meet him.’  
Ray looks at him in surprise, but it’s nothing compared to the shock in Max’s voice. ‘He should _what?_’  
‘He should go meet Bapa,’ Rafe repeats calmly, as if his little brother wasn’t questioning his sanity – but there’s a definite twinkle in his eye. ‘Blue, he’s the real deal. He’s _Dad – _a slightly less Shadowhunter-ish, slightly more confident Dad, but I can’t see that being a problem.’ He turns back to Ray with a smile. ‘I’m sure he’ll wanna meet you. And I reckon it could be good for both of you.’

Ray nods slowly, trying not to seem like his heart rate is in the two-hundreds right now, or like his stomach is doing a _very _dedicated trampoline practice entirely devoted to somersaults.  
Sue him. From what he’s been told this morning – evening? His body clock’s a little messed up right now – the guy he’s about to meet is pretty much his actual, honest-to-god soulmate. He’s allowed to be a little nauseated.

***

Magnus looks over the Brooklyn skyline, lost in thought. He moved back here around five years after they lost Alexander – Rafe had long since moved out to his own place, Max was travelling, and Magnus couldn’t bear being in the family home alone anymore. The loft feels like a sanctuary, even after all this time; but still, it’s not like there aren’t plenty of memories here to haunt him as effectively as they ever did in Alicante.  
He smiles sadly. The older he gets, the more he understands why Ragnor often tended towards melancholy. If you live long enough, you eventually lose something – some_one_ – that hits harder than you ever thought possible.

He’s startled from his thoughts when he feels the hum of Max’s magic against his wards, his mood instantly lifting. He didn’t know his youngest was planning a visit.

There’s a knock at the door, and Magnus frowns. Max doesn’t normally knock. And now that he’s paying closer attention, there’s something else – a brush of gentle, unfamiliar magic against the wards, just down the hall from where Max is standing. He suppresses the urge to groan; he’s not sure he has the energy to deal with some hyped-up, over-eager young warlock Max has befriended.

Well, no point delaying the inevitable. He waves a hand, stepping away from the balcony and towards the front door. ‘Blueberry!’ he says, stretching his arms wide as the door swings open to reveal his son. ‘What a wonderful surprise. Come to check up on your old man?’  
‘Hi, Bapa,’ Max says, and he accepts Magnus’ embrace, but there’s something… off. He seems nervous, tense.  
Magnus pulls away, guiding his son’s gaze to his with a hand under the scruffy blue chin. For someone who could easily do it with magic, Max has always been remarkably absent-minded when it comes to staying clean-shaven. ‘Is something wrong, darling?’  
‘No,’ Max says too quickly – but now Magnus is looking, his son doesn’t seem afraid. He seems nervous, but in an excited kind of way, and he smiles as he pushes Magnus over to the couch. ‘You’ll want to be sitting down for this,’ he says assuredly, in response to Magnus’ raised eyebrow. ‘I met a guy in London last night, and I reckoned you’d wanna meet him too.’ He calls towards the door. ‘Okay, Ray, come on out.’

Magnus plasters an easy smile over his disappointment. He was hoping for a quiet day. ‘Yes, don’t worry, I don’t bite. Any friend of Max’s is-‘  
The words stick in his throat, and if it weren’t for Max’s hand on his shoulder, he’s pretty sure he’d have fallen over, sitting down or not.

Alexander looks at him, eyes moving up and down slowly, before his face splits into a brilliant, slightly embarrassed smile. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just nice to know that even as a Shadowhunter, I had great taste in guys.’ He winks, and Magnus’ brain short-circuits – and before he can process _that, _or the accent, or the lack of runes, he’s bowled over yet again when the man in front of him waves a hand with practiced ease, and Magnus’ front door shuts with a spark of silver magic.  
His other hand, he holds out in front of him. ‘You must be Magnus. I’m Ray Hughes.’

Words are still failing Magnus, but he manages to get to his feet, and somewhat shakily take a few steps towards the warlock – this confident, flirtatious stranger with his late husband’s face.  
When he’s standing about two feet away, his hand reaches out, almost of its own accord. It’s not until it’s an inch from cupping the warlock’s jaw that Magnus’ brain snaps back to reality, and he snatches his hand back, unconsciously grabbing at the wedding band hung around his neck. He shuts his eyes, breathing heavily. _Calm down. This man doesn’t know you yet. _

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he says, and he’s proud that his voice barely shakes at all. He opens his eyes, hoping the glamour that hides his cat eyes will at least partly disguise the redness he can feel there. The warlock – because Magnus can’t think of him as _Ray, _not yet, not while his battered heart is still sobbing _Alexander, my Alexander – _doesn’t seem put out. In fact, he’s looking at Magnus with a kind, understanding smile; and _oh_, Magnus forgot just how beautiful that particular smile was.

He tries to return it, and reaches out to briefly shake the warlock’s hand, falling back on etiquette even though his head is spinning. ‘As you said – I’m Magnus Lightwood-Bane. What brings you to New York, Raymond?’

The warlock glances over at Max. ‘Well, I was minding my own business in the pub last night, when a certain blue friend of ours approached me. Imagine my surprise when he introduces himself as my youngest son,’ he says, grinning at Max, who laughs. The warlock returns his attention to Magnus. ‘He filled me in about his family, and after a lovely trip to Alicante to meet Rafael… I wanted to meet you.’ His smile, so confident when teasing Max, turns shy and a little flustered, and Magnus’ heart skips a beat. ‘I was hoping you could tell me all about Alexander,’ he says softly. ‘Perhaps over a cup of coffee?’

And Magnus doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but he does know the answer to that question. ‘I… would like that very much.’

***

When Alexander passed, it left a gaping hole in Magnus’ heart. If it weren’t for the boys – his incredible, incredible sons – he doesn’t know how he’d have made it through. When he’d recovered enough to function a little better, he briefly considered the possibility that they’d meet again; that his Alexander would come back to him, just as he had in Edom, just as his Édouard had in _Pandemonium_.  
But Magnus quickly dismissed such thoughts as flights of fancy. Meeting someone in two lifetimes was almost impossibly rare. To expect a third chance was folly.

Now, of course, he’s remembering what Alec promised him in Edom – _I’m never leaving you again_ – and thinking that he should have known better.

Raymond is twenty-six, and he looks like the mundane, the archer that Magnus fell in love with twice before. In everything _but_ appearance, he reminds Magnus of Alec in his later years; less abashed, well and truly settled in his skin. Unafraid to flirt, or laugh, or show affection.  
The same kind, steady heart beats in his breast, in a rhythm that more closely matches Magnus’ own. The same quiet, determined conscience steers his thoughts, feelings, actions.

They fall in love as quickly as ever, as certain as waves crashing on the shore. Magnus looks over in the middle of the night, in the bedroom they shared a lifetime ago, and sometimes he wants to weep at the familiar glow of that most beloved soul. But instead, he wraps his arms around broad shoulders, buries his nose in a familiar mess of dark hair, and feels their magics intertwine like climbing roses. And he thanks the stars, the universe, the angels, and any god who’s listening that he gets to hold this man in his arms again.

On the first anniversary of his Édouard, his Alexander, his Raymond coming back to him once more, Magnus conjures a magnificent dinner on the balcony – and when they’ve finished eating, he gets down on one knee. ‘In another life,’ he says, almost reverently, ‘this belonged to you.’ He pulls a ring box from his pocket, snaps it open to reveal one of the identical rings that until recently, he wore on a chain around his neck. ‘Raymond Hughes, would you do me the honour of wearing it again?’

This time around, they marry in traditional warlock blue, on a deserted beach in Ladera, St Lucia. There are no Clave officials, no political allies to invite – just their friends, Raymond’s mundane father, and the extended family that have welcomed this delighted, silver-eyed warlock back into the fold with open arms.

This time around, they promise _forever_, and both of them know in their hearts that it’s the absolute, unquestionable truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I promised you a happy ending. ;) By the way, my headcanon for the list of friends they invite is Simon, Meliorn, Cat and Madzie, Dot, and Lorenzo.  
Oh, also - Édouard, Alexander, and Raymond all mean 'Protector'. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I really enjoyed writing this, and it's my longest Shadowhunters fic to date, so please let me know what you thought of it! <3
> 
> Find me on tumblr:  
silver-latin-and-salt.tumblr.com


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